"Let us talk," said T. B. He laid her tiny pistol on the table, and with his thumb raised the safety-catch. "You are not afraid of a toy pistol?" she scoffed. "I am afraid of anything that carries a nickel bullet," he confessed without shame. "I know by experience that your 'toy' throws a shot that penetrates an inch of pinewood and comes out on the other side. I cannot offer the same resistance as pinewood," he added modestly. "I have been warned about you," she said, with a faint smile. "So you were warned?" T. B. was mildly amused and just a trifle annoyed. It piqued him to know that, whilst, as he thought, he had been working in the shadow, he had been under a searchlight. "You are--what do you call it in England?--smug," she said, "but what are you going to do with me?" She had let fall her cloak and was again leaning back lazily in the big armchair. The question was put in the most matter-of-fact tones. "That you shall see," said T. B. cheerfully. "I am mainly concerned now in preventing you from communicating with your friends." "It will be rather difficult?" she challenged, with a smile. "I am not proscribed; my character does not admit----" "As to your character," said T. B. magnanimously, "we will not go into the question. So far as you are concerned, I shall take you into custody on a charge of obtaining property by false pretences," said T. B. calmly. "What?" "Your name is Mary Brown, and I shall charge you with having obtained the sum of £350 by a trick from a West Indian gentleman at Barbadoes last March." She sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing. "You know that is false and ridiculous," she said steadily. "What is the meaning of it?" T. B. shrugged his shoulders. "Would you prefer that I should charge 'La Belle Espagnole' with being an accessory to murder?" he asked, with a lift of his eyebrows. "You could not prove it!" she challenged. "Of that I am aware," he said. "I have taken the trouble to trace your movements. When these murders were committed you were fulfilling an engagement at the Philharmonic, but you knew of the murder, I'll swear--you are an agent of N.H.C." "So it was you who found my handkerchief?" "No; a discerning friend of mine is entitled to the discovery. Are you ready--Mary Brown?" "Wait." She stood plucking at her dress nervously. "What good can my arrest do to you?--tomorrow it will be known all over the world." "There," said T. B., "you are mistaken." "To arrest me is to sign your death-warrant--you must know that--the Nine Men will strike----" "Ah!!" T. B.'s eyes were dancing with excitement. "Nine men!" he repeated slowly. "_Neuf hommes_--N.H. What does the 'C.' stand for?" "That much you will doubtless discover," she said coldly, "but they will strike surely and effectively." The detective had regained his composure. "I'm a bit of a striker myself," he said in English. CHAPTER XVII DEPORTATION